Chapter | 17

Armed with enough leftovers to feed my father and Marie, we walk down the street toward the meter where the Hornet is parked. It’s a gentle day, quickly giving way to a dreamy night and the sidewalks are crowded with moviegoers and early diners. It’s always like this in the summer, no matter what day of the week. I feel like walking some more but I can tell my grandpa is tired and I don’t want to push him. He’s come a long way today and would probably like to climb into a comfortable bed.

Walking in the same direction across the street is a group of about ten kids and I recognize a few of them. The shiny-haired girls with the perfect lip gloss color to match their perfectly manicured nails. There are guys with them too—the usual ones they hang out with. They’re not in my world and I’m not in theirs either, but our orbits sometimes intersect in school, just like a Venn diagram.

Today, I have to look at them. An aura surrounds them like a glistening, protective bubble. They glide down the sidewalk impervious to loneliness, shyness, and misfortune. Their smiles are shields and their laughter is a barrier against imposters. I envy their ability to free themselves within the group. Their effortlessness at belonging.

A girl breaks away from her friends and takes the arm of a boy in a black and orange baseball cap. She lowers her head and one shoulder in a submissive posture of flirtation as she looks up at him and beams. She’s inviting his attention but he keeps his shoulders squared and strong. He tilts his ear politely toward her words and then, smiling, returns his attention to the friend at his side. Sensing her pull on him wasn’t strong enough, she surrenders her position by his side and melts back into the inner circle of girls.

My grandfather and I have arrived at the Hornet, and I remotely unlock the door. Across the street the group of kids waits for the light to turn green and the boy in the black and orange cap looks over at my car. Then he looks at me and I can see it’s Jake. The only sign of recognition he makes is the instant he holds my gaze. Then he looks away and my grandpa and I climb into the car and drive away.

Dad and Marie are waiting by the time we get home. Polite introductions are made because my grandfather has never known Marie as my father’s lover. Perhaps he met her in the past as my father’s nurse but I don’t want to ask. This must be awkwardly painful for him.

I take him to the guest room and ask if he needs anything. I point out the phone by his bed and show him how to use the remote control for the TV. I remind him that his appointment with my father is at eleven the following morning. We purposely scheduled it a little late so he can sleep in if he needs to adjust to the time change.

Just as I’m about to leave, my grandfather remembers the bird.

“Charlie,” he says. “Can I see him please?” He remembers how much my mother loved her bird.

But when he gets a look at Charlie, a mask of concern comes over his face. I explain how we’re working on returning him to good health but my grandfather’s first instinct is to ask if he’s being properly fed. I assure him Charlie gets a variety of fruits, vegetables, vitamins, and seed.

“It’s a mental thing,” I explain. I stick my finger into the cage but Charlie looks away scornfully. “My goal is to get him on my finger.”

“We will do this together.” My grandpa has certainty in his voice. “Let me think about it tonight. Now, please show me your room.”

I’m embarrassed. It was inevitable that he’d find out where I sleep, but it’s difficult to tell this eighty-two-year-old man from Venezuela that I’ve pitched a tent on the roof of the garage. But since I have to tell him, I do.

“What?” His expression is horrified. “You could walk while you’re sleeping and fall and be killed! Your father allows this?”

“It’s okay, Grandpa. I don’t sleepwalk. I’m fine. I like it up there.”

I think he gets it right away though, because he doesn’t ask any more questions.

“How do I talk to you if I need to?”

“This is my cell phone number.” I jot it down on a slip of paper. “Call me anytime, and I’ll be down in thirty seconds.”

“Pity I can’t visit you. But I’m too old to climb to the roof.”

Still he wants to walk outside with me and see how I get up there. He examines the ladder carefully and gives it a good shake to make sure it’s sturdy.

“My father had a contractor secure both ends of the ladder. It won’t slip.”

“Tanks God for that.” He lingers like there’s something more he wants to say. “I see you in the morning, Kicsi.”

His arms raise up slightly as if to embrace me, but only one arm comes all the way up, and he uses it to pat me on the back. I think I detect a sheen of moisture on the surface of his eyes, but maybe it’s just the reflection of the moon. I breathe deeply to melt away the lump in my throat. Kicsi was the special nickname my grandfather used to call Mom.

__________

My phone is ringing and it’s only eight o’clock. It’s Grandpa and he’s wondering when I’ll be down. He’s worried that three hours isn’t long enough for me to get ready and get him to my dad’s office on time. I imagine he’s nervous. He also wants to tell me about his morning so far.

“I have eaten a good breakfast prepared for me by Marie,” he begins. “And I have shaved and taken my shower and washed the breakfast dishes. After your father and Marie left, the doorbell rang and a beautiful lady with her baby bring a plate of cookies for me!” I can hear the smile in his voice over the phone. “I will share with you if you come right now.”

Then he adds slyly, “I have surprise for you, but you should come quickly to see it before you get ready.”

When we finish talking, a text comes in from Chad:

Can I stop by for a few minutes tonight? I have something to show you.

Everyone with the surprises today.

When I walk into the house, Grandpa is waiting anxiously. He hands me one of Rachel’s home-baked cookies and takes me by the hand, leading me to his room. The door of his bedroom is closed and he opens it very slowly and cautiously. He has moved Charlie’s cage from the study to the top of the desk in his room. The cage door is wide open and Charlie is standing on top of the dresser pecking away at one of Rachel’s cookies. There’s a terrible mess of crumbs all around him, but neither Charlie nor my grandfather seem to be concerned.

“He spent the whole morning out here with me,” Grandpa beams with pride. “I just read my book and Charlie come out and walk around the room.”

“That’s fantastic, Grandpa. He looks really . . . happy.”

I extend my finger in front of Charlie, but he’s busy with the cookie and he moves away from me a little to continue his cookie crumb grazing.

“It takes some time. We start this way.” Grandpa, the bird whisperer. “Now you need to go get ready.”

“I’m going to take a quick run first. I won’t be too long. Maybe thirty minutes to an hour.”

“We will be late!” He looks stricken.

“No, we’ll be fine. It takes me fifteen minutes to shower and dress. And Dad’s office is only a ten-minute drive away.”

“But you must eat!”

“I just ate that cookie and I’ll grab a banana or some fruit after I run.”

“This is no good. No wonder you’re so tinny.” Then he perks up. “Okay, you go run and Charlie and I will read together until you get back.”

I’m sore from my last run but after about ten minutes I don’t feel it anymore. Why haven’t I done this before? I can’t completely explain the feeling but I suppose it’s something like this—I’m making myself stronger to prepare for . . . life? The loop around my neighborhood goes by in a flash and then I’m down the hill and already to the turn-around tree before I know it. This time I jog nearly all the way up the hill before I have to stop to walk. When I get to the top, I still have enough energy to do a half-loop cool-down. I’m sweating profusely by the time I pass the Sullivans’ house.

Rachel’s standing in her front yard watering some plants with the garden hose. Henry is on her back in a carrier with a little sun shade canopy. When I run by, she points the nozzle of the hose up into the air and water arcs over the sidewalk, reflecting the spectrum of light and forming a rainbow bridge. A hummingbird darts through its mist and disappears into a blossoming bush. I run under the arch of cool spray before Rachel turns the hose back to her garden.

“Did you have a cookie?” she calls after me.

“Yes. Yummy. Thanks, Rachel!” It feels so good to have her back in my life.